Humbuggery
by Maybe the Moon
Summary: Sirius hates Christmas. Written for a LiveJournal holiday challenge. Slash.


--

"Nearly got her this time," said James, bursting into the dormitory with blood gushing from his nose.

Remus looked up from his book and frowned. "You're leaking," he said. "You tried to kiss Lily Evans under the mistletoe again."

It wasn't a question.

James touched his upper lip and looked at the red smear. "Yeah, well." He chuckled and got out his wand, pointing it at his face and muttering under his breath. The blood vanished. "She's got a good left hook, that one."

Sirius, sprawled across his bed and staring up at the canopy, snorted. "You're an idiot," he said. "Mistletoe, Prongs? What're you, _five_?"

"Oh, Sirius." Remus shook his head and went back to his book. "It's just a silly little tradition. There's no harm in it. Unless you're James. Then it makes you bleed."

"Hey!"

"It's a stupid tradition," Sirius huffed. "The whole thing is stupid. It's just another _day_. Why make such a big deal?!"

Remus looked over at him with a calm smile. "Well, according to my mother it's sort of a big deal. Something to do with Jesus being born, I'm a little shady on the details." He grinned.

Sirius snorted. "So, what's that got to do with all this shite with trees and singing and presents?"

"It doesn't, you toerag," said James. "All this stuff is just a bunch of old celebrations mashed up into one. You know, the tree thing came from - what, the Germans, Moony? Yeah, and the presents thing, that was the Romans."

"They can all keep it," said Sirius. He rolled over onto his side, his back to the others. "It's stupid. All this 'peace on earth' bollocks. No one means it. They just say it every year because they think they have to, and they only get presents for people because they don't want to look selfish."

Remus sighed. "Perhaps you're right about some people, Padfoot," he said. "But for others, it's just a nice time of year."

"How is it nice?" Sirius peered over his shoulder at Remus. "Your family's poor, how can Christmas be any fun?"

"It just is," said Remus softly. "You don't need money to have a good Christmas."

"Bollocks. Christmas is all about money, and lies and stupid people being _stupid_," said Sirius. "Give it a rest, Moony. I think the holiday's stupid and everybody who likes it is stupid, too. The whole thing's just- It's just STUPID!" Sirius grunted and made a frantic little gesture at the curtains, and they fell around his bed and plunged him into darkness. "Bah," he huffed against his pillow.

"Humbug," Remus muttered, a little sadly. Went back to his book.

--

Before dinner on Christmas Eve, Remus approached Sirius just outside the Great Hall. Sirius had taken to stuffing his pockets with food and squirreling it away to the dormitory to eat in an effort to avoid the festive decor, so Remus knew to head him off at the door. "Padfoot!"

Sirius turned around, wearing his December scowl. "Hn?"

Remus fidgeted, licked his lips, and produced a brightly-wrapped gift from behind his back. It looked a little care-worn, as though it had been in Remus's possession for a lot longer than a Christmas present ought to be. He held it out to Sirius with both hands and smiled shyly.

"Happy Christmas," he said quickly. Sirius stared at the present and didn't move. Remus rattled it a little. "Go on, take it. It's yours."

"Keep it," said Sirius sourly. He jammed his hands into his pockets and turned away. "Don't need a ruddy present. You know I don't, Remus. Don't be stupid."

He stalked into the Great Hall, and never saw the slump of Remus's shoulders or the corners of his mouth fall. In fact, he wouldn't see Remus again for the rest of the night.

At least, not while awake.

--

"You're an arse," said James, catching him in the hall. "You know that? A real arse, and I shouldn't even be asking you but my mum insisted that you come to our house over the hols."

Sirius glared. "No," he said. "I'm staying here."

James rolled his eyes. "You always stay here! You sulk in the tower until New Year's, when everything's fine again. Just- Just come to Christmas, you prat. Mum's making a goose, and plum pudding and cakes and all the rest. I _know_ you like food, Sirius. Doesn't matter the holiday."

"Stuff your goose up your arse, Prongs." Sirius tried to push past him. "I'm staying here."

"You know, I don't get it." James regarded him with a disgusted expression. "Eleven months out of the year you're an okay guy, stand-up and cool, but come December you turn into a fucking _bastard_. And you never say why but I reckon it's got to do with your folks."

Sirius scowled. "Shut up."

James pushed him. "No, you shut up!" He shoved him again, out of his way. "And stop saying the shit you're saying to everyone about Christmas! Especially to Moony!"

"What's he got to do with anything?" said Sirius, pouting and rubbing his chest where James had shoved him. "He tried to give me a bloody present. He knows better."

"No, he doesn't." James shook his head. "Bless him, he doesn't know any better. He keeps trying with you and you keep trying to put him down. He doesn't give up, but someday he will. And then where will you be?"

Sirius didn't want to hear anymore. "Away from _you_, I hope!" He turned and bolted down the hall, ignoring James's voice behind him, calling him back. He didn't stop until he was upstairs and in bed, the curtains tightly drawn against December. It was cold, and dark, and his stomach churned as though he might be sick.

He curled up and began the long wait for one more Christmas to pass him by.

--

Bells in distant Hogsmeade tolled midnight, and Sirius - wide awake - tossed and turned in bed. His stomach was still upset and he wondered if perhaps the cheese at dinner had been a bit off, or the potatoes underdone. He couldn't figure out any other reason why his stomach would be bothering him like this for so long, and so late.

Then there was a thump, and a muffled curse, and Sirius sat up. He couldn't see anything in the darkness of his drawn curtains, so he rooted around beneath his pillow for his wand. "Lumos." There was nothing to be seen by soft, blue light in the confines of his bed, but another thump revealed the disturbance to be outside, in the room. Swallowing hard and preparing himself for Peter sleepwalking, James returning from rounds, or Peeves smearing jam on the ceiling again, he pulled the curtains sharply open.

"Aah!"

Sirius blinked as his younger brother started, lost his footing and toppled to the floor in a pile of silver and green.

"What the bloody fuck are you doing in here?" he demanded. Regulus righted himself, getting to his feet and smoothing his robes, and Sirius could see that the silver was the glint of long, heavy chains in the dim light, rattling softly against his robes. "What are you doing? What the bloody hell are you _wearing_?"

Regulus looked at him, and Sirius's voice trailed off. He looked much older than his fifteen years, with a weariness in his eyes to rival even Dumbledore's. Jagged scars ran the length of his face, and his hair was long and unkempt. It _was_ Regulus, but it was no Regulus Sirius had ever known.

"What... What is this?" he breathed. "Is this a prank?"

"No," said Regulus, in a low, hoarse voice. "Pranks are your department, dear brother. All that I am here to do is to warn you."

"Warn me?" Sirius blinked. "Warn me about what? Why are you- What happened to your face?"

Sirius tried to reach out, to touch that terrible scar on his brother's face, but as he did his hand passed neatly through Regulus's flesh, as if he weren't even there. Sirius jumped and scrambled back, regarding his hand and then Regulus with horror.

"You're a- You're-"

"A warning," said Regulus, patiently. "Sirius, I am your brother but I am not your brother. I am what is to come, I am Regulus's fate. And... I am yours."

"M-mine?" Sirius said, as he began to shake.

Regulus shifted, and Sirius could hear the scrape of the chains against the floor. "I am here to warn you of your fate, and to tell you that there is a chance you can change it." He looked at Sirius grimly. "You will be haunted," he said. "By three spirits."

Sirius stared.

"They will come by the hour, one after one." Regulus sighed, a strange and terrible noise that sounded as though a thousand breaths had passed through the room, each colder than the last. "Listen to them and do as they say." He eyed Sirius. "Or your chains will be heavier than mine."

"Erk," said Sirius, and he was almost certain he was going to be sick, now. And then he realised he could see through Regulus - or the figure claiming to be him. James's bed appeared in Regulus's chest, and Sirius realised that the spirit was leaving. "Wait!"

"One by one, they will come," said Regulus, in the voice of a thousand sighs, and then he was gone.

For a long time, Sirius sat still and stared at the place his brother had been. It had to be a dream, he thought. He'd eaten something dodgy and was having a terrible dream. After all, none of the others in the room had even stirred through it all. Definitely a dream. All Sirius had to do was make himself lay down, close his eyes, and he'd wake up straight away. And with any luck, he wouldn't remember this at all.

He doused his wand and crawled back beneath the blankets, curling up into a tight ball, and closed his eyes. But it was a long time before sleep would come.

--

"I say, my boy! Time to get up!"

Sirius jerked as a sharp voice wrenched him awake. He blinked and rolled over, and yelped when he found himself looking up at the (nearly) severed head of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington. The ghost hovered over his bed, peering down at him with a look of bemusement. Sirius blinked back.

"Nearly-Headless?" he croaked. "What- What time is it?"

Nick huffed. "It is time," he said, "for you to get out of bed and accompany me on an outing."

Sirius frowned. "An outing? At-" He groped for his bedside clock and peered at it. "Bloody hell, Nick - it's one in the morning!"

"One-oh-five, to be precise. Which means that we are late." Nick floated up and over, and with a wave of his hand he yanked the blankets away from Sirius. "Get up, and for the Lord's sake, put some trousers on. And perhaps a cloak, it may be a bit chilly when we're going."

"Where are we going?" asked Sirius as he scrambled out of bed and dressed against the cold.

Nick smiled. "Not where, my dear boy," he said, reaching out to touch Sirius's sleeve. "When."

--

It only took a moment, a moment in a gloomy hallway adorned with the severed heads of house-elves, for Sirius to figure out that he was home. Or, more specifically, back in his parents' house at Grimmauld Place. The grandfather clock in the foyer ticked a death knell that echoed throughout the house and made Sirius's skin crawl. He looked around anxiously.

"Why are we here?" he asked Nick, a silent presence beside him. "Why this house?"

"It is your house, isn't it?" said Nick. "Your childhood home?"

Sirius shook his head. "It was a house I lived in," he said, "but it was never my home."

Nick looked at him sadly. "Come along, Mister Black. I believe your father is in the study."

Sirius's father - a tall, intimidating man - was indeed in the study, seated in a very plush green armchair and looking over the Evening Prophet, nursing three fingers of Firewhisky. Sirius hovered in the doorway, unsettled and unwilling to enter.

"He can't see us, can he?" asked Sirius. Nick nodded, and his head toppled to his shoulder.

"If you're familiar with a Pensieve," he replied, picking himself up by the ear and righting himself again, "it's a bit like that. We are looking at your father in the past. And now..." He paused, and small footfalls could be heard behind them on the stair. "Now, we will be looking at you."

Sirius gasped as a smaller, younger version of himself passed right through him from behind, scampering into the study. Sirius the child couldn't have been more than six or seven, and all at once Sirius the nearly-adult remembered this night with painful clarity. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and he was tempted to look away, but found he couldn't. He was frozen in place, and he could only watch.

"Father!" The small Sirius ran up to his father, waving a small piece of parchment. "Father, look! I've finished it!"

Sirius's father lowered his newspaper and looked at his son. Sirius remembered that expression, remembered not being able to name it, but knowing how it made him feel: small, insignificant. He shuddered.

"What have you done that is so important you'll disturb me?"

At his father's voice Sirius the younger paused, bit his lip and ducked his head. "Sorry, father." He held out the paper. "It's my letter to Father Christmas. I wrote to him to tell him what I wanted, so perhaps he'll come this year!"

Sirius cringed as his father reached out and plucked the parchment from the pudgy hand. He looked at it with feigned interest, then looked back at his son. "Father Christmas?" he asked. "Who told you of Father Christmas?"

"Um." Sirius the younger looked at his feet. "Cousin James."

"Ah. Dorea's boy." Sirius's father smirked. "You know she married out of the family, son. That Potter has a lot of ideas that aren't welcome in this family." He looked at the letter again. "James told you that Father Christmas brings toys to children that write to him, did he?"

Sirius nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And you believed him." Sirius's father frowned. "Sirius, you are smarter than that. You're old enough to know that these things, this Muggle propaganda is nothing but lies."

The study fell silent. Sirius watched his younger self look up at his father, his eyes go wide with confusion. "Lies?"

"Yes, lies." Sirius's father folded the parchment in half. "My son, you need to know the truth. Look here." He picked up a newspaper - a Muggle newspaper, the London Times - on the table beside his chair and held it out. The front page bore a terrible photo of the carnage of the Vietnam War, something that Sirius still only knew vaguely about.

"Muggles," said Sirius's father. "Another Muggle war. They invent these things, these Father Christmases, and use the holiday to tell themselves that everything is all right, that they're good people. They pretend to love each other, but look, my son. They continue to kill one another even during their most beloved time of the year. What does that tell you?"

He snatched the paper away and set it aside. "It tells you that this Muggle fiction is not to be trusted. Don't waste your time with this Father Christmas silliness. It was invented by hypocrites, by liars and thieves, by those that pollute our way of life with their ignorance." He took Sirius's letter in hand again. "Your letter will never be read, Sirius. There is no Father Christmas. Christmas is a silly holiday. I do not want to see you spend any more of your time on it."

And with that, he tore the letter into pieces and threw them in the fire.

"Now, then." Sirius's father settled back into his chair again. "Go on up to bed. You are being punished." He picked up the Prophet again and began to read, as though his son were already gone.

Sirius watched himself, watched as he processed everything his father had told him. When the boy turned and slowly left the room, passing through Sirius and Nick, Sirius realised his own hands had curled into fists at his sides. He looked at his father for a long moment.

"Your father's words hurt you in a way no wand or weapon could do," said Nick softly. "Over time, that hurt turned to hate, and you would never be able to enjoy a proper Christmas."

"Well... He was right," Sirius said, through clenched teeth. "How can people celebrate Christmas one day, then turn around and kill each other the next? He was right, and I couldn't-"

He stopped, and swallowed hard.

"What's the matter?" asked Nick.

"Nothing in particular," said Sirius.

Nick gave him the ghost of a smile. "Something, I think."

"No." Sirius shook his head. "I just- I wish I could say something to my father, now. That's all." He wrapped his arms around himself. "Take me back, please? I can't- I want to go back, now."

A chill passed through the doorway, and even Nick shivered.

"We need to be getting on, anyway. My time's almost up." He touched Sirius's sleeve, and in a blink they were once again standing in the dormitory. The clock on his bedside table still said five after one in the morning. Sirius looked around wearily, only vaguely aware that in spite of his absence everyone had slept on, undisturbed. And Nick was gone.

He made his way into his bed and lay down, closing his eyes. He waited for sleep, but for a long time the only thing that came to him was the echo of his father's voice, and the smell of burning parchment.

Eventually, he slept.

--

When he woke again, it was to the smell of gingerbread and peppermint. Sirius opened one eye, expecting it to be morning, expecting Remus to be tearing into one of his mother's care parcels again. The woman was a veritable factory of biscuits and sweets, and she never failed to bombard her only child with enough of both to carry him through to Easter. Sirius had never once tasted one of those gingerbread biscuits, had never wanted to, but he suddenly found his mouth watering for one. He sat up.

"About time, Black."

Sirius blinked. "Evans?"

She stood over him, in a white cloak and a wreath of candles resting upon her ginger hair. Sirius sniffed the air around her and realised that there were no biscuits or sweets, just Lily Evans smelling of them. And frowning at him.

"Why are you in my room?" he asked her, rubbing the grit from one eye with his fist. "James'll go spare if he catches you in here, talking to me of all people. You hate me, anyway."

Evans snorted. "I don't hate anyone," she said with a huff. "I'm just not very fond of you at all. I think you're a proper arse."

Sirius grunted. "So why are you _here_?"

"To explain that," she said, pointing across the room. Sirius looked.

Remus's bed was empty.

He swallowed. "Where's Moony?" asked Sirius. He looked at Evans. "Where is he? He was just there, a moment ago. I heard him breathing."

"Come with me," said Evans, holding out one slender, pale hand. "I'll take you to him."

Sirius eyed her hand warily, then reached for it. When their fingers touched he felt a jolt not unlike Apparation, or a Portkey. The world tipped one way, then the other, and when it righted itself he was no longer in the dormitory but standing, with Evans, in the lounge of the Shrieking Shack.

"How'd you do that?" he asked Evans, letting go of her hand quickly. "You don't even know where the tunnels are."

"Shush," she said, nudging him with a pointy elbow. "Look there."

He did look, and the churning feeling from earlier returned so abruptly it was a miracle he wasn't sick right there on the floors. Remus sat by the window, looking out at the snowy hills and rooftops of Hogsmeade. He held in his hands the grimy little present he'd tried to give to Sirius earlier, and Sirius suddenly had a name for the feeling in his belly: guilt.

"Moony?"

James stood in the doorway, in his pyjamas and boots and winter cloak. His hair was unkempt and he looked sleepy. "What're you doing here, Moony?"

Remus looked up, startled. "Oh, nothing. Just... I couldn't sleep." He gave James a sheepish smile. "I hope I didn't wake you when I left."

"Had to take a piss," James yawned, and out of the corner of his eye Sirius saw Lily make a small moue of disgust. "Saw you weren't there. Used the map." He crossed the room and spotted the gift in Remus's lap. "Said no again, then?"

"Of course," said Remus with a sigh of such sadness that Sirius's chest ached. "I'd hoped... But I should have known better."

James snorted. "I don't know why you waste your time on him," he said, leaning against the wall. "He's been a complete berk about Christmas for as long as I can remember."

Remus shrugged. "I suppose I wanted to give him a reason to like Christmas." He fingered the wrinkled little bow on the parcel. His hands were shaking, slightly.

He ducked his head, his voice suddenly soft and hoarse. "I think I wanted to be the reason he could like Christmas," he said, and Sirius's heart sank straight down to his feet.

"Oh, Moony." James sighed. "I'm sorry, mate."

"It's all right." Remus looked up and smiled, but his eyes were wet. "Perhaps one day he'll come round? If I keep trying?"

James bit his lower lip and looked away. "Perhaps. But Moony? Honestly? I wouldn't count on it. Christmas with Sirius's family was a brutal sort of thing, and as for the other... Er. Well, I hope for your sake he's not as stupid as he often looks. You're too good for him by far, and no mistake"

He rested his hand against Remus's shoulder, brief but firm. "Come back to the tower soon, yeah? " said James. "It's cold and you've got to rest up. Full moon in a week."

Remus nodded. "Aye, I will." He looked up at him. "Happy Christmas, Prongs."

"Happy Christmas, Moony." James moved away and, with a last look at Remus, left the Shack. Sirius watched him go, then looked back at Remus.

Beside him, Evans sighed. "He'll give up eventually," she says quietly. "You'll keep telling him no, and eventually, it'll sink in."

Sirius looked at her in horror. "How do you know? You don't know me! You don't know my future!"

"You're right, I don't." Evans stepped back. "But I know who does."

She snapped her fingers then, and before Sirius could react everything went black.

--

He woke on a cold, stone floor. When he sat up his head hurt as though he'd hit it somehow, but when he felt his forehead there were no lumps, no blood. All around him was an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, a terror so deep it made him tremble violently, his blood frozen.

Sirius looked around. He was in some sort of a cell, with high, thin windows that would be impossible for a man to reach, let alone climb through. He stood up, his head reeling, and held out his hands, feeling the scratched, cracked walls until he found the door.

"Help!" he shouted, pounding on the thick wood. "Help! Someone! Let me out! Is anyone there? Hello!?"

"They can't hear you."

Sirius whirled around, and his mouth opened in an empty scream. It was a figure that hadn't been there before, a being in black. It had no face, no arms that he could see, no mouth. Yet, it HAD spoken.

"Who- Who are you?" asked Sirius. The figure moved, or made the suggestion of movement. Sirius couldn't be certain. "Who's _they_?"

"The Dementors of Azkaban. And perhaps they do hear you." Sirius could hear a smirk in the unsettlingly familiar voice. "They just choose not to care."

Sirius frowned. "Tell me who you are. Are you another ghost? I get it, Evans was the present, wasn't she? And you- You're the future." Sirius swallowed. "This is- I'm in _Azkaban_? How- How did I- Why?!"

The figure swept across the room, a plume of smoke and fabric drifting on a nonexistent breeze. "That is not for me to say," it murmured. "The how and why are not as important as the fact that you _are_ here. This is where you are, Sirius Black."

"Enough with the fucking riddles!" Sirius shouted. "I want to know what's going on! Where's Moony? James? I demand you take me to James!"

"Ah." The figure laughed horribly. "Such a posh little Pureblood, making your demands. All right. I shall take you to James Potter, and your Moony." It paused. "So interesting, you have no interest in the other one's fate?"

Sirius stomped his foot. "Just take me to them!"

There was a noise, and smoke and for a moment Sirius thought the thing had exploded. Then he realised it had, and he was propelled high above the fortress, over the gloomy trees and the seemingly endless lake that surrounded it. He didn't know how far he went before he began to descend, tumbling into soft (though not soft enough), damp earth. He lay on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

Above him, the stars vanished behind a veil of grey.

He sat up and pushed the hair out of his eyes, and his breath left him once again. He'd landed in a graveyard.

"What is this?!" He got to his feet, turning around, searching the shadows. "I told you to take me to James. Where is he? Where-"

He stumbled then, pushed from behind by an unseen hand. His shoulder struck something tall and hard and when he felt it with his hand, he realised it was a tombstone. He staggered backwards, breathing hard, swallowing against the bile in his throat. Without thinking he plunged his hand into his pocket and drew his wand. "Lumos."

The epitaph was clear in the sudden burst of light:

_James Potter_

_Born 27 March 1960_

_Died 31 October 1981_.

"Oh, no." Sirius scrambled back, away from the stone's terrible words. "Oh- _No_."

He whirled around. "What is this?!" he shrieked. "What kind of fucking joke is this?!"

"It is no joke." The figure appeared behind him, and Sirius quickly faced it, his wand drawn protectively in front of him. "It is no trick. This, Sirius Black, is the likely result of your carelessness toward your friends."

"It _is_ a joke!" Sirius's wand shook violently. "This- This can't happen just because I don't fucking like Christmas! That's ridiculous!"

The figure seemed to grow and fade in the wavering light. "Is it?" it asked. "You believed your father's words when he told you of human hypocrisy. That you think so little of a holiday designed by an unforgiven people in need of forgiveness makes one wonder if you, yourself, are incapable of any forgiveness yourself. Of trust. Of faith in your fellow man."

Sirius stared. "What- What does that mean?" He gulped. "You think I don't trust my friends? I trust them completely! You're daft, if you think otherwise!" He reached up, ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I mean, they're my mates. I... They're the only friends I have."

"Had," said the figure.

Sirius went white. "Remus- Is he gone, too?"

Suddenly, the figure pointed with an arm and an oddly pale, shimmery hand it didn't have before. Sirius turned and saw a man making his way through the graveyard. He knew him instantly by the lanky frame and gait. "Moony?"

He stumbled toward Remus but stopped, remembering that Remus wouldn't be able to see him. And as Remus came closer, he knew this was no Remus he'd ever known. This man was older, his face gaunt and scarred and his hair gone almost completely grey. His clothes were shabby and unfit for the chill in the air. Sirius's eyes burned as he watched this weary, tired Remus stagger through the graves and stop in front of James's.

"Happy Christmas, Prongs." Remus's voice was soft and hoarse. He knelt and produced a bouquet of lilies, which he pressed into the soft mount of earth. "I miss you both, terribly."

"Both," said Sirius, under his breath. He crept up to the grave and saw that there was not one, but two. He swallowed, and lifted his wand to read the second inscription:

_Lily Potter_

_Born 30 January 1960_

_Died 31 October 1981_

"Oh, _no_..." Sirius knelt beside him, peering at him, trying to see the familiar face beneath that mask of age and sorrow. "Moony, I'm so sorry."

Remus gave no sign that he heard Sirius. He stared at the graves, then rose with some effort and a small grunt of pain. "See you again next year," he said quietly, and turned to go.

"Moony!" Sirius shouted. "Moony, wait! Please, wait! Please, don't go!"

"You know he can't hear you."

Sirius growled, and swiped at his face, surprised to find it wet. "He can hear me."

The figure laughed that terrible laugh again. "Then he chooses to ignore you?"

"No!" Sirius rounded on the figure. "No, Remus wouldn't- He'd never ignore me! He- He _wouldn't_!"

He shoved at it suddenly, knowing it was futile and thinking his hands would simply pass through it. He was shocked when they didn't, and instead his palms connected with something solid and alive. Sirius watched the figure stagger backwards. The hood fell from its head.

Sirius gaped. "Peter?"

Peter grinned, snake-like.

"Surprised?" he said. "Just goes to show that you can never be sure of anything, doesn't it? Or anyone." He shoved back his sleeves, revealing the hand he'd pointed with was made of silver. "You dismiss the trappings of a holiday, Sirius Black, but you would do well not to dismiss the meaning of it."

"You- You're right." Sirius nodded. "You're right. I can't- I didn't know. I thought... I thought my father had it right. It was easier to think everyone was just... pretending." He swallowed. "Peter- Spirit, whatever you are. Tell me this isn't going to happen. Tell me I can change this, that James'll live and Remus-" He gulped. "That Remus won't be alone."

"And again, no thought to the other one." Peter shook his head. "I can't tell you anything, Sirius. It's not up to me to change things. What's done is done. What's to come... is what's to come."

Peter suddenly smirked. "And you, my friend, are due back in Azkaban about now. The Dementors will be wondering where their favourite meal has got to."

Sirius blanched. "No... No! You can't send me back there!" The terrible, drowning feeling from the cell began to envelop him, and he became aware that the shadows around them were moving. "No! Get away! Let me go!"

He tried to run, but the Dementors fell from the sky, the trees, they grew out of the ground. He felt them on his body, in his mouth and in his head.

"No! No! I'll change! I'll _change_!"

The graveyard fog swallowed his screams.

--

Sirius woke with a start, soaked with sweat and the blankets tangled so tightly around him that, for a moment, he couldn't move. He fought himself free and flung himself out of bed, looking around the empty dormitory. Slowly, he realised it was morning. He was awake. He was back at Hogwarts.

It was Christmas.

"I didn't miss it." Sirius swallowed hard. "It's morning. It's Christmas morning. It was a dream." He rubbed his head, speaking softly to himself, over and over. "All of it, just a dream. Just a dream." The fact that he was still shaking, that he still felt the wretched fear of the Dementors crawling across his skin, made him wonder if that was even true. The truth was that he just didn't know.

After a moment, the creeping feeling went away, and his feet were cold. He found his slippers and his dressing gown and threw them on, looking around. The beds were unmade, which meant it was still early enough that the house-elves hadn't been. Everyone was downstairs in the Common Room. Celebrating.

Sirius smiled, and ran for the door. He flung it open and neatly collided with Remus.

"Oof." Remus dropped to the floor on his arse, and looked a bit dazed. "Steady on, Padfoot."

"Moony!" Sirius reached down and hauled him up and wrapped his arms around him, tightly. "Happy Christmas, Moony."

Remus went still. "Uh, Sirius?" He gently pushed Sirius away and regarded him as though Sirius had suddenly sprouted two heads. "Are you ill?"

Sirius grinned. "No. Just- I'm just an arse, Moony."

"Hope you're not waiting for me to argue with that."

"No." Sirius laughed. "I mean, I'm an arse. I've been an arse. Listen, something happened to me a long time ago and it made it really hard for me to understand why anybody would like Christmas so much. I thought it was just, you know, stupid shit like trees and songs, but... It's not, is it?"

Remus's dubious expression bloomed into a slow smile. "Padfoot, have you had a change of heart?"

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I think- I think I get it, now. It's not the trees and stuff, is it? It's- Everybody needs Christmas, or whatever, because the whole year's been full of awful stuff like wars and people dying. Christmas doesn't _stop_ it, but it makes people think that it might stop someday. It's... It's people telling each other that there's hope for us all, yeah?"

"Oh, Padfoot." Remus bit his lower lip. "There's hope for you, that's for certain. Such a good dog." He patted Sirius on the head and chuckled. "It's always been about hope. Christmas was born of hope."

"Yeah." Sirius nodded. "And so, I want my present now."

Remus frowned. "You- oh, the one I had for you yesterday?" He suddenly turned pink in the ears. "It's nothing, just- It's just a book I thought you'd like. _Gulliver's Travels_. You're always going on about traveling, and-"

"Moony." Sirius tapped Remus's mouth with one finger until he stopped talking. "The book is brilliant, but I'm talking about the _other_ present." He licked his lips. "The one you've been trying to give me for the last few years." He felt his cheeks go hot. "That one."

"Er," said Remus, looking confused. Then his eyes went wide, and his ears even pinker, and his mouth fell open. "Oh. _Oh_."

Before Sirius could lean in, James burst through the doorway. His face was red, but for once it wasn't bleeding. He was blushing.

"She kissed me!" James sputtered. "Evans! Lily! She kissed me!"

Sirius snorted, and buried his face against Remus's neck, laughing.

James blinked. "Oho, what's this?"

Remus rubbed Sirius's back. "Sirius is having his first Christmas, Prongs." He giggled. "A very happy one, I should hope."

"Sop," murmured Sirius, lifting his head and grinning at Remus. "Go on, Moony. Say it."

"Say what?"

Sirius played with a bit of his hair, still thankfully brown. "Whatever mushy thing you're wanting to say. I know you, idiot. There's some hopelessly soppy thing rattling around in your head that you're just dying to say, so say it." He poked him. "Right now."

"Ah, well." Remus smiled brightly. "God bless us, every one."

"That's it," breathed Sirius, noting the mistletoe in the doorway above their heads. He pressed his mouth to Remus's, who made a small noise, and tightened his arms around Sirius. When he parted his lips, Sirius tasted gingerbread and candy cane, two more traditions he could definitely learn to love.

- fin -


End file.
